Crossing Ebenezer Creek Read online

  Caleb held her still tighter, pulled out a handkerchief, wiped tears from her face. “Awful man, it’s true.”

  “Awful man. That all you can say? I never told you all, Caleb. How I lived in fear of him, all the times he tried to— Caleb, he tried to take me, have his way with me! He’s a monster!”

  Caleb rubbed her neck, her back. “Believe me, I know what you feeling, know how much you—”

  He was stunned, hurt, frightened when she pulled away. “You don’t know, Caleb! Can’t know! Jonah was right. You not like us. Every second of my life been a tightrope! A mountain of misery was Nero’s doing. He don’t deserve to live! No justice in that!”

  “No, it ain’t justice, not as humans see it.” Caleb reached out to her. “But you’re wrong about Nero, he—”

  Mariah gave him a look that cut him to the quick.

  “What?” Mariah shouted, taking a giant stride away from Caleb. “I’m wrong about Nero? Have you lost your mind?”

  “What I mean is, Nero ain’t the root. He’s a branch. Say he’s killed. Then what? Go back to Callie Chaney? Kill her too? Then travel back in time? How many people would need to be killed to reach the root?”

  “You sayin’ it ain’t Nero’s fault?”

  “I’m—”

  “He had a choice! Didn’t have to—didn’t have to do what he did. Because of him I lost my pa, my ma. And Zeke—if it wasn’t for the bullwhip he woulda … been born normal. I just know it.”

  “What I’m saying is for your own sake, Mariah. You need to tell those people to just go about their business. Or if you want, I can tell them you said—”

  The sight of her stopped him again. It was as if she wanted to scratch his eyes out. But he couldn’t give up on her. Caleb walked over to Mariah, grabbed her firmly by the shoulders. “Mariah, please listen to me. For your own soul’s sake, you need to tell those people to—”

  It looked like her mind was going loose.

  Caleb stepped back. “Do what’s right—otherwise you’ll never know peace of mind, of spirit.”

  “Peace? We in the mouth of war! Peace? Beginnin’ to think it ain’t possible in this world. And don’t try to tell me that demon Nero don’t deserve to die! It ain’t right for him to go unwhipped of justice.”

  Caleb had an urge to tell Mariah that he knew about monsters. Monsters in others. The monster in him. He wanted to tell her about Lily, the family joy.

  Tell her about seeing his sister busted up. How a simple errand in town took her across the path of a monster. Wanted to tell of the knock on the door, of Lily found in an alley, left for dead, not living long, but long enough to say who did it. A local white man Caleb knew by sight.

  Yes, Caleb thought, as he watched Mariah pace and rage, he knew what it was like to burn to be the justice. He remembered that queer taste in his mouth, the fire in his belly as he bided his time, learned the man’s patterns. Where he worked. Where he gambled, drank. Remembered the searing pain when his mother passed from grief. Rage became Caleb’s daily bread all the more. And then came his chance for revenge.

  The culprit stumbled from a tavern.

  Caleb ran over, played the darkie, told him he knew where he could have a good time if he had a taste for colored girls. “Young ones,” he said.

  The man took the bait, followed Caleb to a bawdy street, where noise, day and night, didn’t cease. Steered him to an alley, rained down blow after blow—for his sister, for his mother, for all the wrongs done to his people. Then he grabbed a brick.

  Caleb wanted to tell Mariah how much he understood, then thought maybe his story wouldn’t help.

  Would fear?

  “Mariah, Yankees won’t tolerate a lynching. If you head it up, there’ll be a price to pay.”

  “Look what happened to Dulcina. Nobody paid. Can’t see Yankees bothered over a slave driver. Colored lives don’t matter. And so what if I pay a price? So what?”

  Caleb had one last hope. “If you loose people on Nero, and if the Yankees show them no mercy, show you no mercy …” Caleb stepped closer, put a hand on Mariah’s shoulder.

  Mariah shrugged it off. “Then what?”

  “Where will that leave Zeke?”

  NO MORE!

  She took off for the woods, ran blind, shattered in mind. Ran until she all but collapsed beneath a giant live oak dripping thick with Spanish moss.

  Mariah sat there, behind a veil of Spanish moss, soul in civil war, fighting for some purchase on peace, but unable to cool the burning to see Nero dead.

  Dusk descended.

  Daylight faded.

  The cloak of darkness came.

  Still, Mariah sat listless, drained of tears.

  On the outskirts of her mind, she heard footsteps, rustling. Soon, a crackling. Before long, warmth wafted her way.

  She heard voices.

  We call it the killin’ stone … I only done as tole! … Jus’ say the word! … And behold a pale horse! … My whitefolks was both devils … For your own soul’s sake … You mine … Nero ain’t the root … What you lookin’ at, you filthy nigra? … Jus’ say the word! … Peace of mind, of spirit … Where will that leave Zeke?

  Then she heard herself—What do you know of God?

  She battled to believe.

  “By and by all will be put right. God’s watchin’.” That’s what her ma had murmured the day after the dungeon.

  But by and by her ma was dead too. Nothing had been put right.

  There was cannon boom, rifle fire, yet Mariah didn’t flinch. Muffled and muted too was the crackle of the fire, the squeak of bats clustered above her head.

  “Watch,” Mariah muttered, coming to a cruel conclusion. “That’s all God does,” she whispered. “Watch.”

  No more! She shook her head. No more! No more! No more! Done with praying, done with hoping, with believing. Done with God.

  “Useless,” she mumbled. “Nothing but useless.”

  But then she heard another voice.

  Mariah! Mariah!

  WELL?

  Caleb awoke to drifting mist. In the hollow of a giant tupelo. Mariah in his arms.

  He pulled his overcoat tighter around her.

  She stirred.

  He kissed her forehead, pressed her against his chest.

  When Mariah woke up a few minutes later, Caleb saw the startle in her eyes, saw her do a double-take when she realized she was in his arms.

  Caleb said nothing. Just loosed his arms. Watched her sit up, wipe away leaves, dirt, rise on wobbly legs, get her bearings, then make for camp.

  Caleb followed a few feet behind.

  He hung back when he saw Chloe meet Mariah halfway, hug her, and lead her over to a campfire, where Mordecai and Zoe sipped coffee and chewed on hardtack.

  “Where Zeke?” asked Mariah.

  “Still asleep,” said Mordecai as Zoe handed Mariah a cup of coffee.

  When Mariah waved it off Caleb saw her eyes were fixed on the wagon bearing Nero. Still in the same spot.

  Caleb could see Nero’s head bandaged. Figured Chloe had his shoulder in a sling, a splint on the bad ankle.

  “Can you take me to Captain Galloway?” Mariah asked Caleb.

  “What for?”

  “You’ll see.”

  As they made tracks for Captain Galloway, Caleb spotted others rising, stretching, getting their bearings, starting fires. Some eating breakfast, others staring at the dawn.

  He heard scraps of conversation. About a nightmare. About the witch riding all night long. About cold in the bones.

  When they reached Captain Galloway’s tent, Caleb called out for him. “Captain, sir, a moment.”

  Captain Galloway emerged from his tent wearing his dark-blue trousers but up top only his long johns and suspenders. He had a razor in one hand and shaving cream on one side of his face. “What is it?” he asked.

  Caleb looked at Mariah. She seemed tongue-tied.

  “Well?” asked Captain Galloway, looking at Caleb for a clue.
<
br />   Again Caleb looked at Mariah. Now he saw her strength.

  Looking the captain in the eye, she asked, “Favor, sir?”

  BLUE GLASS BEADS

  Mariah told Captain Galloway about the bad blood between the man ailing in the wagon and her and some others. She asked if he could get the man removed for the sake of peace.

  “Not callin’ for him to be cast out,” she said, “but sent to colored in another part of the march.”

  Inside of an hour, Mariah watched Caleb driving the wagon away, with Privates Sykes and Dolan on either side, riding chestnut bays.

  When the wagon was out of sight, Mariah readied herself and Zeke for the march. When they camped that evening, she was prepared to face Caleb.

  “Awfully sorry for the way I acted yesterday. Sorry for yellin’ at you, bein’ so ugly.” Instead of waiting for him to come sup with them, Mariah had brought two helpings of rice and gravy to his tent.

  “No need for sorry, Mariah. Just wasn’t yourself.”

  “But now you must think me—” She lowered her head.

  “I don’t think any worse of you.”

  Mariah looked up. “Truly?” Mariah prayed to God that Caleb was like his father. Not the changeable type.

  Caleb stroked her cheek. “Really. I’m in no position to judge. Remember I told you I understood? This is why. You see …”

  For the longest while, Mariah asked no questions, made not a sound. She just listened as Caleb told her about Lily.

  “You killed that man?” Mariah interrupted when Caleb told of picking up a brick.

  “Was about to when something came over me. It wasn’t like I heard some still, small voice. More like I saw myself becoming a worse evil, knew if I murdered the man, his blood … never enough. Me, I’d never be right. I’d only soil my soul.”

  Mariah couldn’t imagine Caleb killing a fly, let alone coming close to murder.

  “Before that I used to frequent saloons, gamble, do a host of things that woulda broke my ma’s heart had she known. Bad enough she couldn’t get me inside a church. But after I was kept from killing that man, I put all that foolishness behind me. Set my sights on becoming a better man.”

  “What happened to that white man?”

  “Cleaned him up. Got him into a hack. Never saw him again.”

  They finished their rice and gravy in silence.

  Caleb was dipping their tin cups in a bucket of water when he asked, “What turned you around?”

  Mariah bit her bottom lip. “I guess you could say it was a still, small voice.”

  She could see Caleb couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. “Still, small voice of Zeke.”

  “Zeke?”

  Mariah bobbed her head. “Yesterday when I went to take Miss Chloe the saddlebag, Zeke jumped up, called out to me.” Tears on the rise, Mariah paused, swallowed. “He didn’t call out ‘Ma.’ He called out ‘Mariah! Mariah!’ ”

  And the tears flowed. “Caleb, he’s mastered my name.” Mariah paused again to collect herself. “With all the commotion I didn’t take it in. Not till later. Last night when I was drifting off.” She sniffled, wiped her eyes. “Made me think maybe peace and resting easy are possible after all. Made me believe again in new tomorrows. Couldn’t begin my new life with blood on my hands.”

  Mariah stretched her back. She wanted no more talk about the past, about pain. She wanted to talk about Savannah. “Caleb?”

  “Yes?”

  “What you told me the other day about your kinfolk and others in Savannah, how you know all that? How you keep in touch?”

  They were still outside Caleb’s tent. He’d just put more pine knots on the fire.

  “By post, mostly.”

  “Wasn’t afraid whitefolks would open your letters?”

  “If they did, they wouldn’t have found anything alarming. Say my cousin wrote that his wife had four new chicks, we knew Jane had four new pupils. Nothing too weighty ever went into a letter though. For that we used—mind if we continue inside?”

  Mariah hesitated, then said, “Fine.”

  Once inside the tent, Mariah waited for Caleb to get back to the conversation. Waited while he reached for a fold-up candle lantern, a match safe, got the candle lit. Waited for him to close the tent flap. Waited for him to brush debris off his pallet. Waited for him to bid her sit down.

  “For deep things we used the Kobe.”

  Mariah sat cross-legged on his pallet, he on the ground.

  “The Kobe?” she asked. Mariah felt a tug at a memory, dismissed it.

  “The Kobe is a group, but not like one with bylaws and a meeting place. Nothing like that. A secret society. Get up funds for buying folks out of slavery. Hide people who stole off. Keep our ears to the ground.”

  “Those in this society, they all over Georgia?”

  “All over the Southland,” Caleb replied. “Some free, some in slavery. Blacksmiths, carpenters, tanners, and like that.” Caleb paused, then recounted his fourteenth birthday when his father told him about the Kobe. “I asked him what kind of word is that, what it meant. He said it meant to be on duty for our people.”

  Mariah was confused. “How did you find each other? How would you know who was a member?”

  “All members have somewhere outside their house, inside their house, on their clothing, gear, or tools, a mark.” He reached for his toolbox, pointed to what had always looked to Mariah like a stack of spinning whorls with a ram’s horn on top.

  Mariah fingered the mark. “The Kobe.” She sighed, then her face lit up. “Caleb?”

  “What is it?”

  Mariah told him about Aunt Minda’s tales and lessons. “She taught us aban meant strength. Her people’s word for devotion was akoben.”

  “Did she now? How interesting.” After a pause Caleb asked, “Did this Aunt Minda ever tell you her people’s word for love?”

  Mariah paused, but not because she didn’t know or had forgotten. The question had her flustered. “Eban,” she said, avoiding Caleb’s gaze. Aunt Minda said it also meant safety, protection.

  The candle flickered. Mariah sat silently, wondering what Caleb would ask next.

  “Speaking of devotion,” he finally said, “my cousin belongs to First African Baptist—can’t wait to see that church.”

  Mariah knew Caleb was moving into whole cloth knowledge. “Say on?” she teased. “So I can think and learn, learn and think.”

  Caleb smiled. “Used to be a white church and a wooden structure. Colored bought it for fifteen hundred dollars. After a while, with the building falling apart and the congregation growing, they made up their minds to tear down the old, build anew, something to last for ages. Took four years, finally finished in ’59.”

  “Four years to build it?”

  Caleb nodded.

  “Why so long?”

  “Most of the work was done by bonfire and moonlight, from the bricks made down by the river to the walls made four bricks deep. Most all the ironwork, carpentry too.”

  “Why was so much work done at night?”

  “Most of the congregation in slavery. Only allowed to work on their church in their spare time.”

  “Where’d the money come from in the first place?”

  “Many had been saving to buy freedom. That’s where the first thousand came from. The rest from a new surge of scrimping and side work.”

  A matter of days. That’s what Caleb had said. Soon the march would be over. Even still, Mariah wished again that freedom came with wings.

  “It’s the church floor I can’t wait to see,” said Caleb.

  “Fancy like marble?”

  Caleb shook his head. “Wood. Here and there holes in it. In a pattern. Diamond with a cross in the center.” Caleb moved the candle lantern to the side. “Never learned the meaning of the pattern, but I know the purpose of the holes.”

  Mariah leaned in.

  “Crawlspace beneath the floor. Holes so that folks down below could breathe.”

  M
ariah felt a shiver down her spine. “Folks who slipped off?”

  Caleb nodded.

  Savannah was a miracle place! Churches of their own out in the open! When he first told her about prosperous colored folks she could hardly believe it. Now she wanted to know more.

  “The Pettigrews have a big brick and brownstone house. He keeps an oyster house. His wife is a top seamstress.”

  And there was Georgiana Kelly. “Miss Chloe will enjoy meeting her. She’s a nurse.”

  William Cleghorn, he explained, owned a bakery on Liberty and Habersham.

  “And there’s Garrison Frazier. Story is he got up a thousand dollars in gold and silver to buy himself and his wife. Another minister.”

  “How many colored churches are there?”

  “Last I knew, three, four,” Caleb replied.

  “I do hope your people are still there.” Mariah daydreamed about stepping foot in the city by the sea.

  She noticed Caleb lower his eyes. “Me too. If they are—or any of their friends—they will surely help us get our bearings, do all they can for us.”

  The way Caleb said “us”—Mariah wanted to hear it again. And again. “You planning to stay South?” she asked sheepishly.

  “Think so.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather head up North when the war is done?”

  Caleb shook his head. “Most of our people are in the South. When the war’s over and this slavery business is crushed, multitudes will need help. I want to stay and do my part.”

  “Let me guess.” Mariah smiled. “With all that thinkin’ and learnin’ I bet you aim to be a teacher.”

  “Indirectly, you might say. Newspaper. Want to start a newspaper.” After a pause, he asked, “What do you want?”

  Mariah hung her head. “Nothing so grand as having a newspaper.”

  “A thing don’t have to be grand to be good.”

  “There was a time I daydreamed of New York,” Mariah said. She told him about her print of the African Free-School. “Had no idea how far New York was, or what I’d do once I got there.” She laughed. “Now I got a hope I think I can make happen. Like I said, it’s not grand.” Mariah looked him in the eye. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “Promise.”